


"Some of us don't get to grow old with the one we love."

by RosaClearwater



Series: "Hello, Finch." [3]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 05:48:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13897599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosaClearwater/pseuds/RosaClearwater
Summary: But, maybe, some of us do.





	"Some of us don't get to grow old with the one we love."

 

The days, no matter how packed they were, seemed to crawl. Time in itself almost seemed irrelevant for all the repetitive and dull actions that marked the minutes.

 

And if time seemed especially slow since Christmas, well, that could also be filed away as irrelevant.

 

(... For the most part, that is).

 

Now, what had been a conglomeration of habit became permanent routine: patrol the streets, look for any sign of trouble, defend the innocent, take down idiots, avoid getting noticed by the cops, slink back into the shadows, and call it a day. Occasionally, if he wanted to spice things up, he’d personally drop off particularly disgusting scum in some alley near a precinct.

 

That was only for special cases.

 

That was also usually followed by Hendricks lecturing him about how they needed to be careful. While she’s one to talk -- having done some pretty reckless things over the last year or so in the name of justice -- he does get her perspective. 

 

He just doesn’t care.

 

And that’s the problem. He wants to care, he wants to feel as though there’s more to this than just violence and stalking down alleys like some superhero without the powers. 

 

And sometimes he does care. Sometimes it’s as though he’s not only got a job, he’s got a purpose. And when it’s a particularly  _ special _ case  (read: anything that reminds him of Jessica and now anything that reminds him of Harold) he cares. There’s an inkling of triumph that brings a sharklike smirk to his face because he finally isn’t just a kneecapping machine, he’s actually alive. In these moments there’s a hint of something that just feels  _ right _ . 

 

But it’s fleeting, disappearing into the light as he steps back into his role. 

 

Slink, Defend, Repeat. 

 

John had a purpose, it just wasn’t  _ his  _ purpose. 

 

Which is why he was standing here next to his boss, breathing in the invigorating air of the docks and trying to figure out how the hell he’d be explaining wanting a change in career.

 

_._

 

One of the hardest parts of having a difficult conversation was actually starting the conversation.

 

And, if your boss doesn’t allow you to brood in silence for too long before taking control of the conversation, difficult becomes an understatement.

 

_._

 

“You ever realize when you've got to do something? That you can't just watch, you've got to intervene?” While this was the normal “let's chat and see how you're doing” meeting spot, Hendricks seemed different.

 

Either way, John didn't verbalize a response. He just allowed his head to tilt as his eyes held faint curiosity in their gaze. He has numerous succinct responses -- five of them coated in sarcasm -- but he was content to let her do the speaking.

 

(For now.)

 

“Of course you know what I mean.” A smile of sorts accompanied this wry remark as she sent him a glance. “Makes all of this easier.”

 

Eyes narrowed, still uncertain of why they should be wary in this instance. His boss didn’t care for weapons and wasn’t typically violent, so suddenly getting shot at (at least by Hendricks) seemed unlikely. 

 

“In that case, John,” He didn’t tense at this, at least not in the typical sense.

 

“Yeah?” Rather, he forced himself to appear even more relaxed so that he could handle anything that--

 

“You're fired.” 

 

_ …??? _

 

An eyebrow raised at this, eyes temporarily lost their focus, but she was already preparing an explanation.

 

“I’ve found someone new,” She glanced in the distance, where two women dressed in all black coolly observed the scene. “Two new volunteers actually. And, since I can’t afford more than two people, someone had to go.”

 

But, her tone tells him it’s more than just that. Not only that, she’s not the type of person to focus on the payroll.

 

He’s getting the feeling that she’s noticed his real opinion of the job.

 

(Which tells him he needs to work on his poker face).

 

Now, John had long since noticed the two women, having felt a challenging glare and a creepy stare since the start of their conversation. However, he hadn’t thought all that much of them and focused more so on Hendricks.

 

(Which really tells him he’s no longer suited for this.)

 

“Well?”

 

He can’t quite muster a proper response, settling for a murmured “Glad I didn’t have to give advance notice.” 

 

She let’s a series of laughs escape at this, and he somehow feels that it’s that type of attitude -- that bubbly, persevering optimism -- that gets people to severely underestimate her. Some people have their anonymity, their ability to stay in the shadows. She has a mask of innocence, one that allows her to flitter through many walks of life and happily disarm those foolish enough to take her on.

 

“I’ll give you two weeks pay because this is short notice.” Which really didn’t mean anything, seeing as how this was more pro-bono than ‘rich billionaire handing off a six figure salary at the drop of a hat’. 

 

Seriously, this was undoubtedly the strangest career “meeting” he’d ever have.

 

And, honestly, he was shocked that he didn't have to go down in a hailstorm of bullets or embrace an explosion in order to leave. To just walk away, to shake off the obligations and the self-inflicted penance “just because” was far more piercing than any weapon could be.

 

They stood together in silence once more, both knowing this change was necessary. That it felt completely wrong for their line of work, a job that ends in death and destruction.

 

And maybe a year ago it would have been absolutely wrong.

 

But, now, it was an equivalent of right.

 

Within the discord that change always brought, this time there was a persistently reassuring feeling that kept any normal fears away.

 

They stood in silence. She was content to let the change sit with them, and he was still in shock.

 

“Oh, and John,” 

 

“Yeah?” He continued to stare out into the water, just taking everything in and still trying to figure out if he was in some weird dream.

 

“Say hi to Harold for me.”

 

By the time he processed her last request, she was already gone. 

 

_._

  
  


It was a chilly day at home. Not freezing, but cold enough that made even retrieving the mail an unpleasant chore. So chilly was it that Harold had started shivering before he could even open--

 

A gloved hand had been reaching out to knock the door. It had been accompanied by a hesitant smile and eyes willing to finally spill the truth.

 

“John?” The air fogged up in surprise at the arrival of the man. “What on Earth are you doing here?”

 

It's not asked with irritation or even wariness. 

 

Just curiosity. Compassion, even.

 

And John’s pausing all of a sudden, as though he had only planned on getting to the door and that was it. After a moment in the cold, Harold has processed the strange turn of events and now has his own smile.

 

“Would you care to come inside? I just started making breakfast.”

 

_._

 

The silence is comfortable, though unexpected. John honestly expected more wariness from Harold -- though paranoia just didn’t seem to describe the man.

 

“So, what brings you into this neck of the woods, John?”

 

“A few things, actually.”  _ For instance, finally telling you the damn truth. Having a chance to take whatever this is a step further.  Oh, and maybe just seeing you. _

 

“You hungry?” That’s when the smells of breakfast finally hit the vigil-- ex-vigilante. He pauses, still not used to either his recent change in careers or the delectable smell of a home-cooked meal.

 

His stomach growls in response.

 

“I see.” A chuckle blends in with a lovely beaming face and John now knows he’s no longer a vigilante. He’s putty in the hand of this kind man before him.

 

“Would you care for anything in particular? I can make pancakes, toast, eggs benedict--”

 

“Uh,” The sound comes out at the sound of eggs benedict before he can really think, accompanied by another stomach growl of approval.

 

A smile quirks at this, “Try the eggs benedict, John.” Knowing eyes meet a sheepish half-grin. “I’ve made them many times.”

 

He can only look shyly to the side as a grin melts into a smile before accompanying the man back into the kitchen.

 

_._

 

They can get to revealing the truth later. It will happen, and Harold will be far more compassionate than John believes he deserves.

 

But, for now, they can just get to know one another a little more. Have more than a walk and accidental moments of “Oh, Dete-- I mean John!” on the street. 

 

For now, they’re both content to just grow a little older with the one they love.   
  


**Author's Note:**

> While this little trilogy of sorts have come to a close, I'm by no means done with the universe ;) :)
> 
> Till next time!


End file.
